01-13-2020, 03:45 AM
Greshen message had arrived to the Northern and western troops. They had dug in, preparing for the terrorist to come to them. Training there self-propelled ARtiarlly pieces of the roads, waiting for the masses of men to swell forth from the captured city, and surrender on mass to the numerically superior shen troops, safe behind there defensive positions.
The first MLF troops, crawling out of there own burning defensive positions, encountered the shen troops.
They men behind there barricades, shouted down at the terrorists, offering them a chance at life. They could surrender, return home after the war, and begin to rebuild.
The masses of men did not seem moved by the offer of peace. A hard life in Vulkaria having radicalized, finding death a preferable alternative to living under the isolating meaninglessness that was found under capitalism. The mear thought of living just one more day as a wage slave to the owning class, driving all sense of self-preservation from ther mind.
The MLF troops, knowing that this would be their last chance, to inflict any damage on the enemy, chose death. Deciding that the few square feet that would be stained red by there blood would be a small victory, towards there goal of painting the entire globe that glorious scarlet hough. And so they charged. Charged like it was a battle from long ago.
They had closed within 2 clicks of the shen positions, when the empire responded to there charge.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Charged teh 400
“Forward, for the MLF!
Charge for the shen!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Charged teh 400.
“Forward, our red Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to fight and die.
Into the valley of Death
Charged the 400 .
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they charged and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Charged the 400.
The sky roared forward, as they were just a click from the shen.
Finally, the shells started to reight down.
Artirally finding there marks. Blasting entire squads with singe shots. Tearing through each man with a hot blast of shrapnel.
The fire explosions tearing apart men, evaporating their blood and cracking their bones to dust.
For 10 minutes, the sky, clear of clouds, thundered with man-made steel, whistling through the air, before colliding into the ground, and sending a blastwave out.
10 long minutes, where the wounds of gunfire did not stop. Where the cannons kept roaring, where shen small arms fire kept blazing.
When the guns finally went silent, and piles of spent ammo casings, pilled high, with smoke slowly rising off of them where left strewed over the battlements, the shen troops finally moved out from there cover.
Slowly walking over the pile of corpses, that would never be identified.
In this gruesome horror, the imperial troops, let out a desperate sigh.
They had won this battle. Won it with there cannons far out of range. And yet there victory felt so hollow.
They were able to destroy the enemies, but this victory tasted only of ash.
They had won a hollow victory, in which their opponents had shown that they were willing to die.
It was going to be a blood campaign.
The first MLF troops, crawling out of there own burning defensive positions, encountered the shen troops.
They men behind there barricades, shouted down at the terrorists, offering them a chance at life. They could surrender, return home after the war, and begin to rebuild.
The masses of men did not seem moved by the offer of peace. A hard life in Vulkaria having radicalized, finding death a preferable alternative to living under the isolating meaninglessness that was found under capitalism. The mear thought of living just one more day as a wage slave to the owning class, driving all sense of self-preservation from ther mind.
The MLF troops, knowing that this would be their last chance, to inflict any damage on the enemy, chose death. Deciding that the few square feet that would be stained red by there blood would be a small victory, towards there goal of painting the entire globe that glorious scarlet hough. And so they charged. Charged like it was a battle from long ago.
They had closed within 2 clicks of the shen positions, when the empire responded to there charge.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Charged teh 400
“Forward, for the MLF!
Charge for the shen!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Charged teh 400.
“Forward, our red Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to fight and die.
Into the valley of Death
Charged the 400 .
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they charged and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Charged the 400.
The sky roared forward, as they were just a click from the shen.
Finally, the shells started to reight down.
Artirally finding there marks. Blasting entire squads with singe shots. Tearing through each man with a hot blast of shrapnel.
The fire explosions tearing apart men, evaporating their blood and cracking their bones to dust.
For 10 minutes, the sky, clear of clouds, thundered with man-made steel, whistling through the air, before colliding into the ground, and sending a blastwave out.
10 long minutes, where the wounds of gunfire did not stop. Where the cannons kept roaring, where shen small arms fire kept blazing.
When the guns finally went silent, and piles of spent ammo casings, pilled high, with smoke slowly rising off of them where left strewed over the battlements, the shen troops finally moved out from there cover.
Slowly walking over the pile of corpses, that would never be identified.
In this gruesome horror, the imperial troops, let out a desperate sigh.
They had won this battle. Won it with there cannons far out of range. And yet there victory felt so hollow.
They were able to destroy the enemies, but this victory tasted only of ash.
They had won a hollow victory, in which their opponents had shown that they were willing to die.
It was going to be a blood campaign.
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